Winchesters of Asgard
by starlordesswrites
Summary: Imagine that day when Sam and Dean Winchester fell into Asgard, much to the distress of SHIELD. Loki is back on Earth, but Thor isn't. Then with Sam stuck in Asgard, Dean stuck out of it, and SHIELD close on their tail… they have some problems. Taking place where Supernatural Season 1 begins, soon after New York. When these two timelines collide, it's not going to be pretty.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Sam looked into Jess's shining eyes. Together, they stood on the pew. He smiled, his face showing his contentment. Sam had never felt happier than he did standing with Jess, his friends and family all watching from below.

"Ready?" Asked the priest, who only needed to glance at Sam's nervously grinning face.

Thor, laptop on his lap, smiled at The Winchester's happiness. "Ready?" The priest glanced at Jess, she nodded. She had been ready for a long time now.

"Do you, Sam Winchester, take Jessica Moore, to be your wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward; for better, for worse, in happiness, and in sadness, in harm and in health, to cherish and protect, till…." Sam took a deep breath, interrupting the priest. He released the breath and nodded for him to continue, "till death do you part." He tried not to think about the hidden messages that that line inferred.

Jessica looked into his eyes, seeking, even now to be sure that he was there. She couldn't believe that he had chosen her, even after what she had done. He was still there, and he still loved her. She smiled at him and her blue eyes shown. Sam's mind cleared and she became the only thought in his head.

"Jessica Moore… I love you." He said under his breath, for only her to hear. "I do." He spoke out loud, to everyone and anyone who would listen. The priest continued with the altered vows.

"Do you, Jessica Moore, take Sam Winchester, to be your husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, in happiness, and in sadness, in harm and in health, to cherish and protect..." He paused noticing the look on her face,

"Never do you part." She mouthed, silently but clearly. He nodded.

"Never do you part." Sam smiled noticing the change in the vows, even now, she was thinking of him.

Dean's hard face softened for a moment. His smiled reached up to his eyes as the world was blessed with one of his rare smiles. Finally, his brother was getting the white picket fence life that he'd dreamed of for so, so long. He wasn't going to be a hunter - he was going to have a future.

Dean nudged Darcy, who was already crying, to point at a stained glass window. It depicted an angel, wearing a tattered beige old fashioned gown, that reached almost to his feet.

"Angels are watching over us." Dean smiled fondly at his mother's words, and looked back down to see Darcy sobbing hysterically out of pure happiness. Jess had seated them together for some reason, she was a little strange, but, not too bad, Dean had decided. Loki, all alone on the computer screen watched the ceremony, he remembered a lost lover and smiled through the tears he wasn't crying.

"I do." Said Jessica Winchester.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean smiled, the world was right. Just him and Sam, riding in the impala, flying across miles of asphalt. Nothing but the soft desert land and clear blue sky. Dean glanced at Sam; his smile vanished. Sam was frowning and, if Dean had to guess, thinking about their dad. Their Dad had been going to Oregon six months ago when he had vanished into thin air.

Last week Sam had called Dean. Said that he'd go hunting one last time, that he had a lead. He'd said nothing more since. Dean could still remember before Sam left for uni, he could remember how they'd travel in companionable silence for days. Now though, the silence felt awkward and Dean, deafened by the unending silence spoke,

"So… What are we looking at?" Dean's voice was soft.

Sam never wanted this, the best thing that Dean could do for him was to find their dad so that Sam could return to his painfully simple, happy and ordinary life, safe as Sam called it. The one that involved a girl in the tattered remains of a Smurfs shirt. Lucky bastard.

"Well there's a bunch of missing persons in some small town in Oregon, it's called Prineville, at least a dozen people disappeared in a couple of weeks. " Sam said, absent-mindedly.

"And?" Dean had been on enough cases that had just turned out to be some psycho to have his doubts.

"There's nothing much else really, but remember the couple, um, Sebastian and Gwen Tyson? No? Um, remember Dakota? At the end of it all Dad said that he owed them one, and since they're out of town on a case, with a trickster I think, they decided to call it in."

"Look it's probably just some creep with a big basement, Sammy, nothing about this case even remotely screams us."

"I remember Gwen and Sebastian, they're pretty trustworthy." Sam's face contorted as he spoke; he didn't like remembering his days hunting. Dean, on the other hand, was wincing, wondering why they'd called Sam instead of him, even though they knew Dean was doing more of it. Not everyone knew that Sam had given up Hunting. Most thought that Sam was undercover; other people thought he just wasn't as good so he got through few cases at a time.

"So give me some more information to go on." Dean's physical eyes may have watched the road, but Sam itched as he felt Dean watch him.

"Well, from what I can tell so far, none of the people who went missing have anything in common…"

"Great." Dean mutters.

"Hey, but get this: Same town, same week, at least four people who went missing in Annandale, Minnesota, about a month ago in Oregon, were found by a bunch of cops. All of these guys were found in the same town that these most recent disappearances went missing in. And from the looks of it…" He types something into the laptop that rests on his knees. "None of them remember anything about what happened." He closes the lid abruptly. "Yeah I think I'd say we've got a case here, Dean."

"Great, then lets speed our asses over there and have a little… talk…. with some of the missing person's families." Sam winced at the tired smile in his elder's voice. Dean liked doing this, Sam just felt guilty for lying to them.

"Dean, I chucked out all my fake badges and ID when I left for Stanford."

Dean smirks, winking slyly.

"Not all of them, little brother." And he retrieves an FBI badge, displaying the name 'John Bonham' under a photo of Sam's face, from the car's dashboard.

"Wow, Dean, sentimental much?"

"Just thinking ahead." He says, shrugging it off with a self assured flash of pearly whites.

"Well don't think too far, I've told you already: as soon as we find dad and bring him home, I go back to uni, back to Jessica, and back to _normal_."

"Normal is boring-"

Sam cuts him off "Normal is safe. Safe is what I want."

"Fine, Sam. Do what you want; it's not my life. Just tell me one thing, does Jessica know? 'Cause let me tell you, you can live that perfect apple pie life all you want, but keeping _this_," he nods his head at the fake IDs, "From her isn't going to help."

"No, Jess doesn't know. She doesn't need to, and will never have any reason to, because this is my last hunting trip. I love Jess, Dean. I love you too, but one day I'm going to _marry_ her. I want you to be part of my life, but if you try to pull me towards hunting after this weekend then…" Sam left the rest unspoken, and Dean let him.

"Sammy - sure, you and Jess are destined for each other or whatever, but something always catches up. If you care that much about her… you should leave her alone."

"What? So some monster can kill her without a fight?"

"It will be safer if you're gone, these monsters, things in the dark, they won't have any reason to hurt her if you're not there!"

"I know Dean. I know. But you've got to understand… I can't."

"Sammy, if you give a crap enough about her to save her life, then let her go. Do you even love her enough to do that, though?" Sam glanced at his brother, whom he'd once worshipped, whom he knew pitied him for his weakness. Dean thought the look meant he'd won. It wasn't a happy victory though.

"No, you're right. I don't love her enough, I love her _too_ much. Nothing you say can convince me otherwise." Sam spoke, and his words were final.

"Okay, that's it. Chick flick moment over."

"Jerk." Sam smiled sadly.

"Bitch." Dean replied, returning the gesture. Silence reigned once more; nevertheless, this time it was a comfortable one.

Still, Dean mentally chided himself, and Sam. He hated himself for not being supportive of Sam, but at the same time he wanted to hit Sammy on the head for being naive enough to think that he could escape the Hunting Life. Worst still, he was jealous that Sam was smart enough to just jump into his perfect life. He leaves, and two years later he has a future. And an unfairly hot girlfriend.

Dean couldn't even stick a job. He would never tell Sam, but once, a year ago, he had tried to leave. John had been furious at him. However, he hadn't stopped Dean, and didn't even punish him until he returned home. It was barely a week later that he returned, having gotten fired from three consecutive jobs for various reasons. He'd had the bruises for weeks.

Sam looked out his window and smiled bitter sweetly, he remembered the Halloween party that Jess had insisted they go to. He remembered how she had spent the whole evening boasting in his place. He remembered the way she fulfilled him, how she was everything he could never be, but for some reason she loved him anyway. He couldn't wait to see her face when he got home.

He was going to propose to her when he got out of law school in 3 years. He hoped and dreamed that she would marry him. Had Dean seen him in that moment he may have seen the glimmer of hope in his eyes. Maybe he would have noticed the way Sam's demeanour opened up, and the wrinkles that lined his young face faded for a moment. He didn't though, so they sat, one in their dreams of heaven, the other in their memories of hell.

He saw a house, and watched as the town came into view. It would be less than two hours until they arrived. Two hours of calm silence. Sam knew he could handle that.

He smiled to himself at the time three years ago when he and Dean had gone on one of their trips without their dad. They'd gotten into a fight before they had even crossed state lines and had spent two days travelling in silence. The brothers had tried to get separate rooms, but Sam had realised, just in time, that if they spent the first night in separate rooms then they wouldn't have enough for a second. It didn't end up anyway near as bad as they had thought it would, though.

That night, three whole years ago, they ate, drank, and talked. It was the first time Sam had told anyone his plans for the future, that he wanted to stop hunting. Dean hadn't hated him for it, back then, he understood. Then they got their 4 hours of beauty sleep, and were heading to the location of the 'strange occurrences' the next day. It had been a ghost, which hadn't taken long to handle, and were meeting back up with their dad within the week.

That next weekend, they'd gone and killed a rogue Hunter who'd gone insane from the stress. For some reason his Dad had always taken those jobs, much to Sam's disgust. Dean had gotten pretty scraped up that day, and Sam had spent the weekend cleaning him up, making sure his big brother didn't die from the poison the Hunter had been known for. Sam was angered by how common an occurrence those life and death situations were for them. Their Dad had spent the day drinking away his memories of the Hunter whom he'd once worked with. Sam's grin had turned to a frown from the bittersweet memories that danced behind his drowsy eyelids.

His lashes fluttered and closed, recollection of his life at Stanford toying with him as he gave in to the darkness. Memories of his first meeting with Jess began to warp as she approached him. Her hips sashayed as she walked, her hair bounced against her back. She had a man at her arm, except he wasn't a man. His eyes were black and he had deathly wings, sprouting from his back. Panic simmered within Sam. Every word the creature said prompted a laugh from Jess, while Sam couldn't hear anything but screeching that poured from his jagged mouth. Jealousy tore at him. Jess turned and pulled it in for a kiss and Sam watched as her leg popped up as it always did when she was with him. Anger beat at his chest and made him want to roar. He watched with hatred and pure envy, she turned to him and said,

"This is Timothy, he is perfectly normal in every possible way. He does _everything_ better than you." As the man led her away he looked back and smiled at Sam, showing him his vampire fangs. The simmering panic turned to a boil and Sam recognised the signature of a nightmare, creatures that had been extinct since before even their dad had started hunting... He followed them home from a discreet distance, glowering as the man led her into Sam's room. He waited outside for a moment. Something was holding him back. He knew if he went in, he might ruin everything with Jess. Then, he heard a scream. He rushed inside and watched as Timothy lifted his head from Jess's still body, blood coating his jaw and neck. And out of nowhere she's back; standing was behind him, a transparent figure floating with a translucent fragility that reminded Sam of glass. Slowly she made her way over to him. Jess' ghost stared at Sam, and started to speak. He voice was like cracking metal.

"It's all your fault. IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" Her voice became a scream and Sam lurched awake.

The impala was resting in the parking lot of a motel and Sam was alone. He absent-mindedly wiped away the tears that leaked from his eyes. The sun was just rising above the small town's buildings. Sam yawned and stretched as much as he could in the low hooded car. He opened the door and grabbed his bag. There was a note on top, which said "Room 12" in Dean's messy scrawl with key taped to it; the room was plain as usual. At least this one had electricity.

Burger wrappers and empty beer bottles lay on the table. Dean laid spread eagle on the still made bed. His face was soft and unlined and Sam sighed. Dean never looked this carefree when he was awake, at least when he was awake and sober. Sam let his mind wander as he checked the empty fridge and quietly headed to the market to buy food for the next few days. He grabbed a six-pack of beer for his brother, he didn't drink much anymore.

It was noon before Dean woke up, and Sam had already been up and researching all things related to the disappearances and reappearances on his laptop. The first word Dean managed to get out of his mouth was,

"Stanford huh…" Sam glanced at the dreary figure of a slightly hung-over Dean. "Damn Stanford. Always the god… goddamn Stanford." He stumbled into the shower and yelped as the icy water burst from the showerhead. Sam sighed and plugged in his headphones, morning after Dean was one of the most unpleasant people on Earth, as far as Sam could see. It wasn't going to be a fun day. But then again, in Sam's opinion: Hunting was never fun.


	3. Chapter 3

There was thud from the bathroom; Sam sat up immediately from his hour long rest, reaching for the dagger under the motel pillow, and slicing through the empty air. The noises appeared to be that of an unstable brother, as opposed to a savage monster trying to bite his face off. Dean wasn't clumsy, he just walked around with his eyes closed when he was hungover.

"Motherfucking asshole!" Dean shouted, likely at the floor. Sam exhaled again as he watched his brother blindly walk into the bedroom, fall onto the bed, and started yelling in anger. "Mom dies, I survive. Dad leaves, I survive again. So I'm busy blaming myself and feeling like shit about the fucking mess we are, but no… The freaking golden star of this fucked up family doesn't hang around to sort crap out. He decides to go to fucking Stanford to get a piece of crappy paper saying he's society's qualified bitch, so he can live his motherfucking perfect ass life. I…" Dean's voice failed in the midst of his rant. He wasn't crying, but if he wasn't so focused on acting like he didn't have a heart, Sam knew he would be.

"Dean, I've got a lead." Sam started, acting like he hadn't heard everything Dean had just said - acting like it didn't make him want to leave _and_ stay with him even more than before.

"Fucking Stanford, sonofabitch…" He muttered in reply, probably not even aware that he was saying it out loud. Sam paused and clicked on the tab that held a picture of 2 young men. It was titled 'Ghostfacers', and looked like a completely fake sight… except… the makers of the page may have stumbled onto something.

"For God's sake, Dean look at-" Sam turned to the snoring figure. "Dammit!" He murmured, under his breath. He stood, and made his way into the bathroom, clearing up his brother's mess. Sam sighed inwardly, before making his way back into the pathetic excuse for a kitchen, downing an instant coffee, and making one for his brother, before nudging Dean awake.

Oregon isn't exactly like other states, in Sam's well travelled opinion. He liked Oregon's cool but sunny weather and kind but cautious strangers, he liked the way the houses were open to those in need. He also liked that the people that populated Oregon, tended to be unsurprised by strange things. It made his job simpler... and it made getting back to Jess, easier too.

Rolling down the window, Sam gasped as a lungful of air hit him like a slap across the face, the speed Dean was driving at only increasing the force of it. His short hair, curling around his ears, with a suspicious fringe, just begged to be grown out as a fleeting amount of it rushed behind his head. He grinned into the blurred landscape, looking almost like a dog with his skin stretched by the wind and something close to happiness glinting in his eyes - whatever colour they were. Dean was, rather predictably, listening to old AC DC tracks via cassette tapes. From what Sam had gathered, the album _Back in Black_ is what was always hammering out of the speakers, in this case the song that the album was named after was screeching at him, and Sam felt almost rockstar-like as they glided along the bare road with a heavy guitar riff hammering out the windows. A part of him wanted to ironically, or unironically, slip on a pair of black shades. Sam sniffed and enjoyed the scent of pine trees and car-less highways, craning his neck and slipping his head back into the car, he smiled inwardly, the gesture barely escaping his lips: He always thought that nearly abandoned roads had an unusually pleasant smell. When he had, ten or so years ago, tried to describe it to Dean, his older brother had stuck his head out the window, breathing in a nice whiff of the manure farm they were passing.

The weathered old car gradually found its way into the town of Oregon they were investigating, Prineville, and they pulled to halt outside a police barricade. Plain clothed officers were 'casually' hanging around while men and women in full police get up were being ordered around by a young woman. She had brown hair in an easy bun, but that wasn't what caught his eye, it was the fact that she had the look of a hunter, someone who had seen all the worst and most dangerous part of this world, but chose to help it anyway.

Sam and Dean stood behind the police tape, which was in place even though they couldn't see a police officer on the entire site. Strange. The two of them slid purposefully under the tape, and waited a few metres from the uniformed officers. Once the women had finished shouting orders, which the officers hadn't been paying attention to, the brothers strode up to her, holding their FBI badges for her to see.

"Hi there," Dean flashed a quick, unmeaningful smile. "I'm Agent Page, This is my partner, Agent Bonham. FBI." They folded their badges away, tucking the leather wallets back into the inside pockets of their blazers, Sam's knocking against a dagger, and Dean's against a lighter and a small explosive… just in case.

"FBI, huh?" She asked, raising her eyebrows. "Little young to be on this kind of a case, I would think."

"Oh, I think we're qualified." This time Dean's grin is flirty, his teeth on show, and one side of his mouth higher than the other.

"Well I'm Agent Maria Hill," She held out a hand, shaking Sam's, and then Dean's. "Now please, get the hell away from this operation."

"What?" Sam jumped in, shocked by her sudden change of attitude.

"Sammy, Sammy…" Dean muttered, silently to himself at his brother's mistake. "Let me take this one." He lifted up his head, now addressing Agent Hill. "Excuse me ma'am, I'm sure you have orders to follow, but that's not how it works, we're _FBI_." He puts emphasis on the initials, as if she didn't hear him the first time.

"That's adorable, but your little game of dress up is over, kids. You think I don't recognise a fake badge when I see one? In fact, right now, your photos have most likely been taken and are being run through every secret service's database that has ever existed." Sam and Dean looked at each other, wide-eyed with shock. "Now, off you pop, I'd suggest running if you don't want me to cuff you here and now." Slowly the boys turned, without speaking a word they began to speed up their pace, until they'd almost broken into a run. "Oh!" The women shouted from the distance between them. Stood in a perfect soldier figure, she raised her hand to her forehead, saluting. "God bless America!" Ten seconds later, and the boys were out of sight.

"What… What the fucking shit? How… What…" Dean murmured as he drove, a good 20 miles above the speed limit, down the unoccupied highway. Sam looked out of the window and contemplated what had just happened.

"...If I had to guess, I'd say that was the second most suspicious thing I have ever seen, just after your pick up lines." Dean's stomach growled.

"Can we go to IHOP?" Dean whined petulantly. Sam sighed, for all his attitude sometimes Dean was _such_ a child.

"No Dean, we can't. Right now we have to go find someone who will explain why that barn was as locked up as an army base and why not even the feds can get in." Dean pulled his face into a grotesque frown. He whispered softly into the cars interior,

"But... But I want pancakes " Sam smiled unwillingly at Dean's antics.

"No pancakes until you finish your interrogations." The brothers smiled at the twisted roles. Then life went back on course.

"Sammy, where do you reckon we can find someone who can, and will, tell us about this?" Dean watched the road, even when he didn't want to be.

"Don't call me Sammy, Sammy is a chubby 12 year old." Sam whispered quietly to himself, as Dean carried on whistling Metallica. In all honestly, he liked being called Sammy, but he would never admit it.

"Well, the family of the third person missing, Lana Greyson, lives half an hour from here. She is just over 16 years old, apparently the night she went missing she was going out to 'study' with her 'friend' Joyce Williams." Dean smiled and almost liked his lips, but didn't because it would be weird. Dean was not weird.

"So where does she live? Or, did she used to live… Whatever."

"Currently her family lives on Riverford Street. Just…" Sam glanced at the phone, "three roads up."

"Which side?" Dean said glancing to each side of the road.

"Your side." Sam sighed and looked at the distant mountains, Dean rolled his eyes.

"You've been doing an awful lot of sighing."

"Hmmm. Yeah." Sam said flatly. Dean turned on the music, Cherry Pie was on. Dean nodded his head in beat and Sam resisted the urge to turn it off.

"Mr. Greyson?" Dean spoke with authority, and a hint of sadness which made Sam queasy, it was exactly how their father had sounded.

"Yes?"

"We're are here about your daughter."

"Who are you?"

"FBI, Agents Page and Bonham." Sam stood back a look of calm curiosity, the kind that made people spill their guts.

"I'm sorry, we're in the middle of mourning. Could this wait? We've already spoken to an Agent Hill." Sam stepped forward as the man began to slowly close his red painted wooden door.

"We don't wish to disturb you but we need to go through the story again. Hill... messed up." Sam's face molded just as he needed it; the man's features fell in defeat.

"...Come… Come on in…" He relented and held the door for the tall and falsely empathetic men. Dean walked in second and a thought reached him, he never really felt sorry for what he did. Even if he didn't like it...

A little boy ran to Mr. Greyson and started to cry, then he saw Sam. His tears stopped. He walked to Sam slowly and touched his leg.

"Why are your eyes so sad?" His voice was soft, almost feminine, but so old - unnaturally so for a kid his age. And what was his age? Three, maybe four? Sam just stared at him until his father led him away, a hand between his shoulder blades guiding him out of the room. Sam stood, surprised, and a little scared. The voice of the child was far too matured, he wouldn't be surprised to hear words like that coming from the mouth of a 40 year old. Moreover, he knew his face was sculpted into one of empathy, not sadness.

"I'm sorry, my son, he was with… with Joyce when she disappeared. He hasn't been the same. He says he can't remember what happened… Anyway." The father changed the subject as best he could and led them to the kitchen. Dean felt the sadness in which the walls were steeped. He sat down without being offered. Mr. Greyson sat in response.

"Mr. Greyson, could you go through the events before your daughter's disapp…" The phone rang, loud and obnoxious. "Could you turn that off please, Mr. Greyson." It wasn't a question, but Mr. Greyson didn't comply, and answered the call.

"Yes?"

Pause.

"I see." His voice sounded dead.

The door slammed in their face.

"Stupid Agent Hill. Telling stupid person. Stupid fake FBI badges. Stupid! Stupid Sonofabitch Hill!" Dean slammed the impala's door before a look of regret passed over his face and he silently apologized to the impala. Sam looked thoughtful, again.

"We're going to have to break in. Tonight..."


	4. Chapter 4

"This was a bad idea." Sam muttered under his breath as he and Dean scoped the building for a section left unguarded.

"This was _your_ idea." Dean replied, looking at his brother pointedly.

"Well you can blame me when we're both dead or under arrest."

"Oh I've got no problem with that." Dean patted his pocket to double check the silver knife he'd packed was still there.

"Shut up." Sam retorted.

"_Shut up._" Dean mimicked in the whiniest voice he could muster.

"Hey," Sam tapped him on the arm and jutted his head towards the building, a long metallic fence outlined it, and this side was guarded by two men in the same obscure uniform that they had seen earlier. "Reckon we could take them on?"

Dean examined them, taking in the opponents build and weighing out his options. "Yeah, but those guys have clearly lifted a few weights, man. I say we get them from behind, then give a clean uppercut to the jaw. Just to knock them out?"

"Fine." Sam said chewing the inside of his cheek in discomfort of the entire situation. He didn't want to have to do this. The guys they were about to beat up probably didn't deserve it, and all he had to hold onto - the compensation for these things that he was doing - was the idea that there were a larger number of innocent people that he would save than the ones he would damage along the way.

"Oh come _on_ Sam, don't be like this."

"I'm not being like anything. I get it, I'll do it, just leave me alone." Sam rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve some on the tension.

"Jesus, you're like a five year old." Dean sighed to himself.

Sam ignored the comment and started walking, gesturing for Dean to move in the opposite direction. He looked puzzled for a few seconds, and then understood the plan. The two brothers walked away from each other, still unnoticed by the guards, and made their way to the extreme left and right of them. Dean gave Sam a quick nod, and with barely a moment's pause, they launched themselves on to the men.

Whilst Sam went straight at the guard's stomach - delivering a bullish kick before grabbing his head and kneeing him just below his rib cage, winding him - Dean engaged his attack gracefully. He snuck up until he was mere inches away, and then placed a hand on the man's shoulder. Shocked, the guard turned, reaching for either the gun or the radio strapped around his thigh, but he didn't have time to grab either of the objects before Dean grinned at him, a sadistic hint in his eyes, and distributed a right hook across his cheekbone. The opposition lunged at him, a tonne of weight ready to crush Dean, who gingerly darted out of the way. The man stumbled over his feet, but rapidly gathered his footing, spinning to face the elder Winchester. But Dean was prepared.

He grabbed the man by the collar of his dead black blazer, before leaning in until their noses were touching. "Sweet dreams, sucker." he spat, then dropped him, letting the man find his balance before throwing an unexpected uppercut to the jaw, one that if it were just an centimetre to the left, and had barely a fraction more force to it, probably would have killed him.

Dean glanced over to Sam, who stood over a motionless figure. And pointed at the bare fence, acknowledging what they'd both have to do.

"Looks like the only way is up." Sam sighed, pulling off his jacket to lay it over the barbed wire they'd have to get past.

Sam put his foot on the fence and hoisted himself up, glad that the idiotic people had put a chain link fence in, most likely the easiest thing to climb. However, Sam's large foot didn't fit in all that well. He struggled, just a little, at making his way up. Using his fingers to balance himself, he took pride in the fact that he was still ahead of Dean. He cautiously manoeuvred around the barbed wire, barely slicing his skin, and soon he was on his way down, his focus briefly distracted by the sight of Dean on the ground, not even ruffled.

_When did he overtake me?_ Sam thought, rather annoyed. It was around this moment that he lost his footing in the small loop he been so precariously placed on, and fell. The drop was only a couple of metres, but he landed completely wrong, twisting one of his ankles.

"Smooth Sammy, _smooth as a steel wool thong._" Sam glared at his older brother.

"Not a chubby 12 year old." Sam needlessly reminded his brother. Sam stood and winced at the sharp pain, which coursed through his scarred and muscled leg. Yet he still found a way to smile at how unfortunate it was that, even after all the pain he'd been through, a twisted ankle still hurt like hell.

"How'd you get over so fast?" Sam said, like the grumpy younger brother he was.

"Dude, someone's gonna notice that two guards were knocked out, stealth isn't really top priority." He gestured to the fairly discrete slice through the fence that Dean had bent to escape through. At first glance it appeared normal, but any further inspection would reveal the entry point. "Sam, your jacket." Sam looked up, sure enough; still on the top of the fence was his pre uni leather hunting jacket.

"Crap." He contemplated asking Dean to get it, but his dignity would never recover. It's enough to say that Dean got a few good laughs in as Sam got up, and fell back down.

The boys walked and limped into the building, mostly unaware of the contrast between them, which the fight had highlighted. Sam, skilled as his older brother, but more human in his empathy for others. Dean, apathetic to others emotions, and flashy in his skill. When Sam had gone to university, he'd learned to speak up for himself in a way he had never done with his father.

"Dean…" Sam's attitude may be new to him, but Dean knew his brother. Maybe even more than Sam knew himself.

"We gotta do what we gotta do." Dean stated, and Sam nodded his head and his short fringe flopped.

"I know."

The warehouse's walls were tall and imposing, their shadow covered most of the open space. Sam walked into the, surprisingly, open doors. He had, in spite of appearances, become a worse hunter in his time away. Unfortunately for Sam's skills, Stanford didn't provide a degree in monster killing. So instead of putting aside his worries and focusing on the risk of ambush, he thought about how he risked ruining his dream of a safe life with this awful adventure. Dean was alarmingly aware of the wince on Sam's face as he eased weight on his right foot, and he noticed the heavy breathing, but he put it down to his brother's pain.

The building was deserted, with the exception of two stupidly obvious guards who were 'hiding' around the corner, with their flashlights on. Dean took front, as usual, and knocked out each of them with a swift, and ruthless whack to the forehead. Much easier than the previous, and clearly more trained, men. Sam noted the skill with which he did it - a skill that bothered him a little. Meanwhile, Dean struggled to push out the thought that this had all been far too easy.

Neither Sam nor Dean heard a sound as the darts hit them in the back of their necks, and black hoods blinded them from the already pitch black room.

Most of the world's population would be out for 7 hours, maybe more, when hit by the tranquilisers used on them, but Sam and Dean were… well. After years of sleeping with a dagger under their pillow, and something deadly on their tail, let's just say that they were particularly good at waking up. So when they opened their eyes after a mere 5 hours, the SHIELD agents watching them were somewhere close to impressed. Seconds after the brothers' awakenings, the agents left to gather their superiors.

When they returned, they found Sam and Dean gone. Missing. Escaped through a locked door; the room didn't even have windows. Director Nick Fury arrived, following his agents' footsteps, and he was angry. The only order he could even think of commanding, after two captives had found a way to escape? That was to find out _how_.

The SHIELD officers that stood beside him were not only filled with terror at what was to come, but jealousy that Sam and Dean Winchester didn't have to witness the fury, that was Nick Fury.

Dean was pissed. Sam was too, but he was a calmer person. _They were in the flipping sky. On a… plane? Is this what all planes were like? _Dean's vocabulary covered anything but the helicarrier that they were on. Given his phobia of flying, he hadn't been on anything more than 50 feet off the ground since he was 13, yet currently he was on top of something over 200 feet away from an unnameable ocean below, and said vehicle was getting increasingly higher. Maybe he'd just remembered the past experiences wrong. _Very wrong_. Sam looked at the planes, and the sky, and then back to the planes, his eyes darting between the two, then finally falling back onto the sea that lurked beneath.

"Crap." His voice was quiet but Dean felt the same exact way. The two of them were stood on the deck of the plane - a plane that looked suspiciously like a boat - and were gazing out onto a field of smaller ones. Jets, maybe?

"Do you…" The question hung in the air, neither of them had been _formally _taught how to fly, but they hadn't been formally taught a lot of things. Formal teaching had nothing on Sam and his rich college friends, who appeared to own (and fly) these metallic birds in their 'spare' time.

"A little."

"Well, might as well get started…" They hung around for a couple more seconds, painfully aware that one misstep and they would be caught, or killed, or death by heights, or a number of other not particularly good things. The 'plane' wasn't the kind that Sam's friend had. In fact, a total of 0 civilians owned one, unless you counted Tony Stark's, and his was illegal. So when Sam couldn't open the door to the small jet, you knew they had a problem. Then the guards came rushing out.

Sam and Dean were good fighters. Really. But when 100 military trained men and women come rushing at you, you don't win for long. You would do even worse if you still had sleeping drugs in your blood.

Nick Fury was pissed. He liked plans. Plans that met the Winchesters didn't survive to the experience. He was in his office, Sam was in room 102 on the Basement level, and Dean was on the second floor in room 845. Both were under heavy surveillance which led both to computer rooms with eight people watching - two in each of the four cabins - and of course, also into his office. There was an additional highly trained agent in every room. To open the door to either of the Winchesters' spaces, a key must be turned from the inside, the outside, and the computer room, within 10 seconds of each other - It was usually better to not ask how they did it.

Now, with them contained and unable to further the mess they had already made... the question was, what to do with them?


End file.
